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Was it Aldeboran's rusted gold
Mis-rul'd my wayward destiny?
Whose was the influence malign?
Emerald Altair, was't thine?
Thine leaden Saturn, heavy and old?
Or Opaline Algol's evil eye?
Hou-Ché.(To Ombrage):
You count yourself star-stricken, what of me?
The Weaving Sisters wrought me webs of woe,
The Oxen trod me underfoot, the Sieve
Sav'd me the sorrow, letting 'scape the joy.
The Watery Stars dropp'd rain of tears on me,
The northward pointing Dipper never pour'd
Me draught of gladness, only wine of myrrh.
My Father of a hundred cars was Lord,
His sway extending to the four far seas
And when he slept in pretious jade in-urn'd
